


Blinding darkness surrounds me (and I am reaching for you only)

by Beleriandings



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2014-10-23
Packaged: 2018-02-22 08:49:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2501768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the unrest of Tirion after the Darkening of Valinor, Fingon and Maedhros meet again for the first time since Maedhros went into exile in Formenos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blinding darkness surrounds me (and I am reaching for you only)

They stood staring at each other in the lantern-lit half darkness, as the crowd of hurrying people in the street flowed around them.

The streets had been full, a fire seeming to crackle beneath the skin of the Ñoldor of Tirion; a great gathering had been called by Fëanáro in the court of the murdered king. Maitimo had stood in the courtyard as the crowd gathered around the plinth, watching the people flow around him. Many held torches, their eyes full of fear and yet fever-bright with something like anticipation. All he saw when he closed his own eyes was the blood upon the stones of Formenos, Finwë’s face as the life went out of him. He touched the hilt of his sword with sweat-slicked, nervous fingers.

The air was strangely hot, and smelled wrong, cloying and thick. He had brought the sword with him when he had ridden through the dark into the city to bring the news, and its weight had begun to melt into the background of his consciousness now, familiar.  _Not that it had done any good._   _By the time they got to Finwë it was too late, and –_

“Maitimo?”

The voice was close and quiet, but he started, whirling around and tripping clumsily against the stone ridge of the fountain.  _Nervous as a hare, Atar would say. He is king now, and you the crown prince. Get a hold on yourself._ Maitimo’s eyes flew wide as he saw who stood before him, reaching out instinctively to catch hold of his arm and steady him.

“Fin?” his voice came out in a cracked whisper.  _How had he summoned the strength to speak before the Valar, before all their people, to herald the death of the king?_ He swallowed, forcing his mind back to the present, and the figure who stood before him, that painfully familiar, beloved face sending a bolt of pain through him as he remembered the last time they had met.

“I had to see you” said Findekáno, twisting his hands together before him, yet nevertheless refusing to break eye contact. His gaze was fierce and sharp, splitting Maitimo open and seeing inside his heart, it seemed. “Closer up than when you came from Formenos, I mean, but I was in council with my father, I couldn’t get away until now…” This time Findekáno did look away, eyes flicking to the sword hilt at Maitimo’s belt for a scant instant before he looked back to his face. “I’ve… I’ve thought about you every day since.”

 _Since._  The last time they had seen each other had been before Maitimo had left for Formenos, and they had not parted on good terms. Findekáno’s voice had held no joy, only apprehension, and something that may have been anger, crackling under the surface.  _He’s lost a grandfather_ , Maitimo reminded himself,  _the same as I have. He is grieving as I am; it is not me at whom his hatred is directed._

“So have I” he admitted, truthfully. “Did you…”

“Miss you?” Findekáno raised an eyebrow, lip curling a little.

Maitimo released he had not known what he was going to say. “Yes” he finished weakly.

Findekáno’s face grew furious, and he looked as though he were fighting back tears. “Maitimo, you are so…” he balled his hands into fists, holding them uselessly out in the space between them as though to beat upon Maitimo’s chest, before dropping them limply at his sides. “Yes. Yes, I have missed you. Is that what you want to hear? Are you satisfied now?”

“Fin…” Maitimo held out a hand, and for a moment he thought Findekáno would flinch away from his touch, or slap the hand to one side, but he subsided, letting Maitimo gently brush his cheek. After a moment, Findekáno raised his own hand to squeeze Maitimo’s, although his eyes were still pressed tightly closed, teeth gritted. “Findekáno, all through this… at Formenos, all this time I’ve been longing to get back to Tirion, so that I could make things right with you. You know that, don’t you?”

Findekáno’s eyes snapped open. “I know” he said in a small voice. He gave a watery laugh. “When I think of how infuriating you were that last day before you left, I wish you would fall into the outer Void along with your damned father, but then I know I would only destroy myself missing you, and be obliged to walk there and get you back. I’m pathetic that way.”

Maitimo took both of Findekáno’s hands in his. “You’re not - ”

“Oh, save it.”

A silence fell between them, as they both looked into each other’s faces, their hands clasped between them, drinking in the still-familiar lines of each other’s faces after so long.  _Familiar and yet subtly different_ , thought Maitimo, his heart aching with jealousy for the people who had been able to see Findekáno every day these years past.

Findekáno’s hair was a little longer, his skin a slightly paler shade of golden brown than in the days of their long trips out into the countryside around Tirion together, in happier times. Or perhaps that was only the darkness. It did things to colours, Maitimo had quickly realised. Findekáno’s face looked a little pinched at the edges, as though he had been less given to smiles and more to frowns of late. He wondered if his own face showed such signs too, and his mouth twitched at the thought.

“What is it?” Findekáno sounded impatient, his eyes dark blue in the dimness, reflecting the pinpricks of the torches and lanterns.

“Nothing” said Maitimo, realising he was still holding Findekáno’s hands and promptly dropping them. Such familiar hands; they felt right in his own. He could feel the blush rising in his cheeks.  _Absurd._  It was almost as though they were just growing closer again, the feeling of starting at the glowing brush of Findekáno’s skin against his own, the glorious forbidden novelty of those early days when they had kissed beneath the gate arch of the house of Fëanáro and stolen touches in the corridors and alcoves of this very palace, stifling their voices and whisking each other away around corners when they had heard someone approaching.

The bright thrill that had gone through them both as they had talked of love and everything else in the world, before letting their bodies speak for them, fingers and lips flitting across skin and drawing breathless cries, laying their minds and bodies each open to the other.

That had been when there was light, though. Now it was dark, and in this darkness, even sounds fell flat.

Now Fëanáro called the Ñoldor to the palace to set the smoking kindling of their people’s hearts ablaze with words, and the fire would burn its way through the bond that held them together, of that Maitimo was certain if he was certain of nothing else.

Findekáno was still staring at him, taking in every detail of his face hungrily. “Your father may be right” said Findekáno suddenly.

That caught Maitimo off-guard. “I… what?”

“I know he thinks of leaving. He has thought of it for a long while, any fool could see. He may be right.”

“You’ve forgiven him then?”  _You’ve forgiven me then?_

“Not for drawing a sword on my father, although formally at least they are reconciled.”

Maitimo nodded. He had heard about the oaths sworn at the festival, before the darkness had come. “You think he will speak of leaving at this gathering.”

Findekáno shrugged. “I think it probable. You’re his son, though. Did he ever…?”

Maitimo shook his head, thinking.  _He had never spoken of it overtly, but the Outer Lands lived ever in his heart, in the stories he told his sons as he rocked them to sleep._  “It is possible. Would you go?”

“If I were Fëanáro?”

“If you were  _you_.”

“Yes” said Findekáno, without hesitation. His eyes shone suddenly, and he gripped Maitimo’s hands in his own again, their faces close together now. “Just think, Maitimo - ”

“Nelyo? There you are!”

They had been almost close enough to kiss, and Maitimo had wanted it, he realised suddenly, more than anything in that moment. But at the sound of the words he remembered where he was, and turned once more to the source of the voice behind him, to see Tyelkormo pushing through the crowd. “Tyelko, I - ”

“Come on, you can talk to Finno later.” Tyelkormo eyed Findekáno suspiciously, even as Findekáno glared back at him with silent defiance in his eyes. “Atar wants all of us by him when he speaks to the people.”

For a moment he looked between the two of them, Findekáno still holding his hands, and Tyelkormo at his elbow. He sighed and nodded, dropping Findekáno’s hands and touching his sword hilt once more. “Findekáno, we’ll… we can talk later.”

Findekáno raised an eyebrow, pursing his lips. “Later?”

Maitimo nodded with what he hoped was more conviction than he felt. “I swear it.” And before Findekáno could answer he was turning resolutely away, not trusting himself to speak any more.

He stole one last glance back at Findekáno standing alone amidst the people flowing all about him, before letting Tyelkormo lead him off through the crowd to their father’s side.

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the song "For You Only" by Trading Yesterday, a goldmine of shippy feelings, Fingon/Maedhros-related ones especially.


End file.
